


this slow monstering

by dreamingofstarlight



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Aftermath of Slavery, Drabble, Gen, TOO MANY COMMAS, abandonment issues (like serious issues), and their children hate them for it, and they died in a failed uprising, sumi and taka are traumatized af, what if sumi & taka's parents were also @ cho's court
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23523973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingofstarlight/pseuds/dreamingofstarlight
Summary: the horror isn't dying. the horror is surviving.
Relationships: sumi & taka & their parents
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	this slow monstering

**Author's Note:**

> perspective of the fic is sumi's
> 
> headcannon i had for sumi & taka in castlevania:
> 
> to live in cho's court means to have an iron will, strength enough to survive in the face of slavery and the daily subjugation of your people ( sumi & taka have watched human hunters die every day at cho's hand since they were children - they're definately fucked up but they also have an unimaginable amount of courage). seeing their parents choose to escape this life by killing themselves through a doomed uprising would be (to them) the ultimate admission of weakness and betrayal and this fic is an expression of that resentment.  
>    
> ... who am i kidding this fic is just me ranting about season 3 in a roundabout way forgive me for this (and my excessive use of tags)
> 
> title is from notbecauseofvictories' poem "CHRYSOPOETICS", which is VERY good. 
> 
> comments & criticism appreciated!

the horror isn't dying.

//

you wish you can forget your parents. the thought of them has you choking on a toxic swirl of anger-hate-love (but not grief- never grief- the only way to exist in cho's court without losing yourself to insanity is to rip open your chest and scour away the sorrow clinging to your heart (there's no point praying for the wound to heal- the gods aren't listening.)) your parents were cowards, your parents were weak, your parents were martyrs who killed themselves hopelessly, needlessly, chasing a noble death to absolve themselves of responsibility to those they abandoned in life. their end was simple, almost painless: a clean cut to the carotid artery, a last moment of clarity to watch their blood drip-drip-drip to the ground, then ... darkness. mother had smiled when cho's vampire guards buried their blades in her body (and why not? it might as well have been her own hands guiding the knife home, slicing across her throat.) sometimes, you almost understand. it's so much easier to hide in the numbness of death than live every day a slave, each new victim of the court a ghost burrowing into your brain, wailing their agony so loudly sleep becomes impossible, until all you hear is screaming when you close your eyes.

people always say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. gods, mother used to whisper that to you on the worst nights at court, the tang of iron and opened veins still sharp in the air, her chapped lips pressed against papery walls, lined face awash in shivering candlelight. in those moments, she was unbreakable; her voice hardened into something steady and calm as she promised each mark born of vampiric brutality would remain engraved on your skin, a benediction turning you from glass to steel. taka, who can't talk about your parents without acrid bitterness curling beneath his words, says _it's a lie, mother never kept her promises, just look at us for fuck's sake!_ you murmur your agreement because what you know is this: anything that doesn't kill you waits quietly, becomes a cancer, ensures a slow, painful passing. look, here is the proof: your traumas are layered like scars over blood over flesh over a body torn apart and put back together wrong, edges jagged and sharp. even now, with cho reduced to shattered chips of ice, surrounded by the warmth of alucard's castle, an ocean away from your parents' grave, you walk the gilded halls limned in moonlight, ignoring an exhaustion sunk so deep in your bones you can barely stand because you're terrified of what waits if you surrender your tenuous grip on consciousness, if you let yourself rest - you already see the nightmare looming, shadowing your vision: cruel smiling lips and too-long canines smeared with bright viscera, mangled bodies and limbs strewn across a bed of petals dyed red as betrayal.

//

  
do you see? the horror isn't dying. the horror is surviving.


End file.
